


Until The Moon Is Full Again, And You'll Be Back By My Side

by amelioratedays



Series: In Ancient Times [2]
Category: GOT7
Genre: M/M, Reincarnation, period au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-13
Updated: 2016-03-13
Packaged: 2018-05-26 10:49:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6235738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amelioratedays/pseuds/amelioratedays
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Where Zai Fai is no longer a general, Zhen Rong is no longer a prince--but they are still together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Until The Moon Is Full Again, And You'll Be Back By My Side

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Ending Sequel because apparently the first one was too mellow for the masses. Also TJ tried to kill me after so...here you go (,,• ₃ •,,)

**i.**

“Young Master, you mustn’t go out!” Zai Fan hushes as he guides the younger male back within the room, closing the door quickly to shut out the autumn wind. Zhen Rong’s hands are cold, and Zai Fan rushes over to the coal furnace, fanning the fire to warm up the room. The scarlet embers light up amongst the charcoal, and Zai Fan puts down the paper fan, reaching for Zhen Rong’s cloak. The younger male sits at the table, looking displeased as Zai Fan wraps the cloak around his thin frame. It’s a empathetic sight, and Zai Fan softens his voice, “Young master, you just recovered from sickness, you have to rest.” The low crackling of the furnace resounds in the room, as if enveloping Zai Fan’s words into a new form of warmth that tickles at Zhen Rong’s ears.

 

“Today is the mid-autumn festival, Zai Fan-ge[1]!” The younger of them states, kohl eyes reflecting the candlelight of the room. There’s a glimmer of hope and anticipation that Zai Fan catches in his gaze, a fragility that he doesn’t bear to break. He sighs, tying together the collar of the silk cloak. “Madam would be worried, you can always go out when you’ve fully recovered.”

 

“But that isn’t the same, the Mid-Autumn festival is only once a year. I want to see the streets under the illumination of the lanterns.” Zhen Rong explains, tugging on the hem of Zai Fan’s sleeve. “Zai Fan-ge,” he pleads, the sweetness of his voice finding it’s way to Zai Fan’s chest.

 

“The Mid-Aumtumn festival may be only once a year, but your health is more important. Rest well and you can see it next year.” Zai Fan says, handing the bowl of medicine to Zhen Rong. “You’ve got a lifetime afterall.” The younger male reluctantly accepts the bowl, warmth traveling from the porcelain to his hands. The pungent smell of herbs fills his nasal cavity and Zai Fan hands him a candied plum, “Young master, you shouldn’t be calling me ‘ge.’ What if other people overhear?”

 

Zhen Rong settles the bowl on the table, “You _are_ older than me, and besides, I know not to call you that in front of mother and father.” He says with a smile, which Zai Fan reciprocates, pulling the younger male back to his bed. “Rest well now,” he says, placing the silk covers over the younger boy’s frame. The candle flame flickers softly in the background, shadows dancing upon the walls.

 

“Happy mid-autumn festival, ge.”

“May young master have one too.”

 

 

 

 

 

**ii.**

“Zai Fan-ge!” Zhen Rong shouts excitedly when the older male enters the room. “Fu Zi taught poems today, do you want to hear?” The older male simply shakes his head, tidying up the wooden desk., “Young Master, I won’t understand.”

 

“I’ll explain then.”

 

“I’m not supposed to know of these things.” He sighs, placing the thin paper rolls on the side. He glances at the carefully written words, talking of mountains and rivers--confidants and companions. Zhen Rong stays by his side, disheartened by his response. “Ge, do you know how to write your own name?” He asks carefully, softer this time around.

 

Zai Fan pauses, movement stalled for a moment, before he recovers and shakes his head. He looks over at Zhen Rong, who finally regains his smile from earlier, “I shouldn’t teach you anything else but I could at least teach you to write your own name.” He cuts Zai Fan off before the other could refuse him, “I’ll write it down for you.” He hurriedly says, placing a fresh piece of paper in front of him.

 

Zai Fan resigns, giving a small nod before picking up the calligraphy brush. There’s a moment before he transfers the brush to his right hand, sloppily copying the strokes of the characters. They come out crooked and unpracticed, lacking strength and order. The fire of the furnace crackles in the background, warming up the room from the harsh winds of winter. Zai Fan looks at the clumsily written characters on the white paper. He doesn’t tell Zhen Rong though, that the character for _Zai_ wasn’t the one in his name. It’s better this way, he figures, as the character for ‘slaughter’  morphs into the character for ‘being’ [2].

 

Memories passing through his mind, Zai Fan tightens his grip on the brush, forcing his hold to stabilize. ‘Zai,’ he writes once again.

 

 _I exist_ , he thinks.

 

 

 

 

 

**iii.**

Fate intertwines in strange ways, Zai Fan reckons as he returns to the servant room at the end of the day. His mother is by the table, folding the small pieces of paper into the shape of a _yuan bao **[3]**_. He pours a hot cup of tea for the elderly woman before overtaking her task. She gives him a soft smile, wrinkles forming at the ends of her eyes, as she cups her hand around the warm porcelain. “You’re already nineteen,” she comments, “already a young man.”

 

“Yes, mother.” He replies, piling the paper money in the woven basket.

 

“Your father would be proud.” A bitter smile gracing her expression as she reminisces old memories. “Mother,” Zai Fan calls softly, “It’s all in the past.” She shakes her head, “the past lives in my memories. You’re too young to remember, but I’m still repenting.” Zai Fan nods, unable to find the right words to comfort her, because who isn’t atoning for past sins. The crimson of his childhood morphs into the ocean of red of lives too long ago. He remembers the caged walls of the palace, the cold blade of the sword upon his neck.

 

It’s all in the past, he reassures himself. But as Zhen Rong’s smile enters his thoughts, he wonders if everything has truly settled in the past. For if not, why has the heavens allowed him to cross the _Naihe_ Bridge[4] without drinking Old Lady Meng’s soup[5].

 

For what else? He wonders, placing the basket on the shelf for tomorrow.

For repentance, he deems.

 

 

 

\--

 

 

 

 

The winter wind billows, snow falling off the bare branches in the cemetery. The burnt embers within the ashes offsets the white, red sparks turning the yellow paper into black soot. There’s no name on the tombstone in front of them, but the characters of Zai Fan’s father’s name are ingrained within his memories. He’s heard of this name for two lifetimes afterall.

 

Making his way slowly back with his mother, he listens to the soft sound of their footsteps upon the untainted snow. They don’t make conversation but Zai Fan knows that the elderly woman was talking within her heart--reciting mantras to forget their past sins. The brand on the back of his neck stings, though it has healed for so long. He wonders if his mother feels the same stinging pain when she remembers the imperial edict that sent them out of their home and their father to the gates of Yan Luo’s[6] palace.

 

The snow continues to fall, white blearing his vision as cold winds make their way through the thin fabric of his clothing. As he enters the Piao Residence, he makes his way to the back garden. The empty branches of the plum trees enter his vision, snow weighing down the wooden branches.

 

 

 

_“They’re blooming quite late this year.”_

 

 

 

He turns abruptly, eyes widening in surprise before he suppresses his emotions--lowering his gaze so that the younger male doesn’t see his expression. “Young master,” he calls softly, voice wavering though he isn’t sure from the coldness or his emotions. Zai Fan-ge, you should wear more. Mother said this coming winter would be colder than usual.” The younger male says, passing his hand furnace to him. Zai Fan doesn’t move--doesn’t find the energy in him to be able to respond. His throat seems to close up, mouth drying up--there’s a small pain between his eyes, threatening to spread.

 

“Zai Fan-ge?” Zhen Rong calls, “Did you become a rock?” He jokes, eyes upturning into crescents. The overlaying of the past and present suffocates him, forming a dull ache in his chest. The snow continues to fall, landing softly upon the both of them. “Young master,“ he says again, softening his tone. He doesn’t dare to look at him, can’t find the courage to maintain his facade at this moment.

 

“Hmm?” Zhen Rong hums in reply.

 

“Let’s watch the blossoms bloom together this year.”

 

The younger boy nods, soft smile upon his lips as he takes Zai Fan’s hands and placing the small hand furnace in the other’s hold. “It’s a promise then.”

 

 

 

 

 

**iv.**

Everyone in the manor is busy as the new year approaches, everyone in the residence helping out to prepare for the new years banquet. Zai Fan tidies up the lumber, before leaving to pick up the materials for the new year’s sacrifice. The Zhao family were visiting this year, throwing everyone off track as menus and stock lists were all changed. He barely makes it out the door before Zhen Rong comes running after him. “Zai Fan-ge! Let’s go together.”

 

“Young Ma--”

 

“There’s a new shadow puppet troupe in town. Let’s go see it!” He says excitedly, pulling Zai Fan out the manor doors. Zai Fan only shakes his head with a laugh, watching as the younger male walks in front of him--silk robes fluttering daintily in the wind. It was like this before too, he remembers, as Prince Zheng walked away without ever turning back. He follows behind at a distance, mind losing control over his memories as he reminisces the bits and pieces of times long ago.

 

 

 

\--

 

 

 

The puppet show tells a tale of treason and festivals--of the brutal battle of power between the noble, of the conspiracies and lies of the royal court. It’s a tale that Zai Fan knows all too well, and he listens along to the retelling of those long ago. At the same time, it's a story that has already blurred within his thoughts, and he wonders if the descriptions of old friends and acquaintances were really true to begin with. Zhen Rong's gaze is fixed upon the stage, body leaning forward as if entranced by every little word of the narrator. The loud clashing of the cymbals and the clacking of the bamboo tiles fill the small room. Behind the silkscreen, the flame of the candle flickers in the air. He watches on as a sword makes its way through the young general's chest. Something stirs within his own chest, heart clenching as if he had been the one stabbed. The red of the shadow puppet contrasts the white screen, akin to blood on white robes. Zhen Rong watches on.

 

The story ends well, as the audience claps. The emperor retains his throne, and the traitor of a prince is beheaded. The crown prince later becomes the ruler of the nation, as he should be. The single night of chaos on the Double Ninth Festival seems erased from history, life continuing as usual. Zai Fan watches calmly, joining the applause in the room.

 

 

 

 

 

**v.**

New Year's Eve is cold this year, snow falling on the pavilion as the wind howls. The red lanterns adorning the manor illuminate the white grounds, giving everything a vermilion hue. Chatter fills the room as they converse over food and wine, the banquet continues amidst the bustle of noise. Zhen Rong excuses himself, gathering his robes as he steps down the wooden steps and walks to the garden.

 

He catches a figure under the moonlight, back facing him as the other gazes at the plum blossoms. Zhen Rong walks closer, slowing his steps as he approaches. Zai Fan doesn't notice, the wind masking the sound of Zhen Rong's footsteps. He grazes his fingers over the opened blossoms. "They've bloomed," he whispers to himself, "even prettier than the ones in the palace." A bitter smile graces his face as he remembers their very first encounter. If then, the flowers had bloomed too, then perhaps they wouldn't have started on such a note.

 

Zhen Rong stops in his steps, feeling a sting between his eyes at the desolate sight in front of him. A tinge of anger, of desperation, of sadness fills his chest--clouding his thoughts. "Lin Zai Fan." He calls out. Zai Fan turns around abruptly, snapping out of his thoughts. "Young Master." He responds, though Zhen Rong only replies with a satirical smile.

 

"General Lin."

 

Zai Fan's eyes widen, looking at Zhen Rong in disbelief briefly before he looks away, shaking his head. "Your highness," he sighs.

 

"If I never remembered, were you going to lie to me for an entire lifetime?" He asks, hands trembling in anger. Zai Fan doesn't respond, avoiding his gaze. "You're always lying to me! From the past life to this life, you're still deceiving me!" He shouts, eyes brimming with tears.

Zhen Rong closes his eyes, suppressing his emotions before he speaks again, "I've waited for an entire lifetime, did you know?"

 

"Zhen Rong," Zai Fan calls softly, only to be cut off by the younger male.

 

"Every year after, I waited alone only to be reminded that you wouldn't come back. You asked for me to remember you; yet, every time I do I remember the image of you upon the bloodied ground." He tries to stop himself from crying, but the tears still fall--scalding his cheeks as they run down. "How could you be so selfish?" He cries, voice breaking mid-sentence.

 

Zai Fan reaches out, taking all his energy to place his hand on the other's face as if too scared that the other would break under his touch. He wipes away the warm tears, softening his voice as he speaks. "You didn't remember me."

 

"You--"

 

"I just thought that fate was giving me another chance to see you again. To just silently stay by your side." He explains calmly, as if commenting on someone else's affairs. "I didn't dare wish for more, this was more than enough."

 

Zhen Rong looks up at the kohl orbs of the older male's eyes, "You promised we'd have a lifetime." He says, voice stern and insistent. This wasn't a question but a demand.

 

"As long as young master still wants to see me," the other responds.

 

"Lin Zai Fan." He starts, "The years you owe me, you have to give them back."

 

"A gentleman keeps his word."

 

The crimson petals of the plum blossoms flutter with the wind, blending together with the falling snow. In the skies, the full moon peeks through the clouds. The banquet continues in the night, festivity filling the last day of the year. The plum blossoms of the heaven and earth have bloomed, and under the red flowers are finally, not one but the two of them.

 

 

[1] Term used to call an older male, meaning ‘brother’.

[2] The character 宰 and 在 are homonyms in Chinese, where the first ‘zai’ means ‘to slaughter’ as well as ‘an imperial official’. The second ‘zai’ means ‘to exist’, ‘to be’. Zai Fan’s name uses the first character as in his past life while Zhen Rong mistakenly writes the second character.

[3] 元寶 was the gold currency of the time. Paper money was folded and burnt as offerings for the dead.

[4] Similar to the River Styx, the Naihe Bridge is what one crosses as they enter Hell for reincarnation.

[5] Before reincarnation, one is to drink the soup served by Old Lady Meng which will erase all memories they have of their past life.

[6] King Yan Luo (閻羅王) refers to the ruler of hell as in Chinese mythology which was based off buddhism, taoism and folk religion.

**Author's Note:**

> ~(๑•́ ₃ •̀๑)
> 
> I've announced this on twitter but I'm retiring (lack of better terms) from writing for the fandom (might just be temporary? a long temporary? might not?). So the only things I'll be updating will be chaptered works I've already started and just maybe this one fic I kinda have planned with the new comeback theme. So thank you for all of you that's enjoyed any of my works, left comments and kudos and I'm very happy that of now my last work for you guys is one that ends on a happy note. ~ヾ(＾∇＾)
> 
> Much love,  
> Sally


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